Juliet Dies in This
by Unstoppable Cyborg
Summary: Claire sealed herself in the Shadow Realm with Morgana in order to save the world. These are five ways her sacrifice is mourned, and one way the events of her life are celebrated.
1. Acceptance

**So I've had this idea since before the first season of 3Below came out, but I only recently started writing it. The title comes from one of Toby's lines from Season 1, a line that I feared was foreshadowing: "Wait, Juliet dies in this?"**

**I'm planning on basing the first five chapters of this on the Five Stages of Grief, but please note that I'm not following the linear progression model. In real life, the stages can come in any order.**

* * *

The chains disappeared from around Blinky, Tobias, and AAARRRGGHH!'s bodies as Claire tackled Morgana into the Shadow Realm.

For a torturously long moment, all was silent aside from the whirling of the vortex. No one dared move.

Then a dark sliver appeared in the thin air that Claire had disappeared into. A clawed hand forced itself through, and then a second one did. Purple claws gripped the edge of reality and ripped it open.

"Break the staff!" Claire shouted, grabbing it from where it was slung across her back and throwing it towards her friends. Golden chains reached for the staff, but they wrapped around Claire's abdomen instead. Blinky grabbed Claire's arms as a second chain wrapped around her torso. He wouldn't let the witch drag Claire away. He had lost one of the children he had come to care about, he wouldn't let himself lose another.

Three more golden chains wrapped themselves around Claire. One chain wrapped itself around her ankles. That one wouldn't do as much harm as the others, since Claire wasn't kicking at Morgana in her attempt at escape. One chain wrapped itself around her upper arms and chest, ripping her arms away from Blinky's. The last chain wrapped itself around her neck. It hovered around it, loose, more like a waiting noose than a chokehold.

Tobias brought his Warhammer down upon the Shadow Staff, and Blinky made one last desperate attempt to grab Claire. Her fingers slipped through hers, but still he grabbed for her as the portal closed and she was dragged away.

Blinky lost his upper right hand as the portal closed. Claire's distressed expression would stay with him longer than the loss.

"No," Tobias said. His armor clanked on the concrete. Blinky looked over his shoulder. Tobias was on his trying to sift through the rubble that the Shadow Staff had left behind, to figure out just how to salvage it. "No, no, there's gotta be a way to bring Claire back."

"Destroyed." AAARRRGGHH! said, and Blinky couldn't be sure if his husband was talking about Claire's weapon or Claire herself.

"I don't have the skill to create a portal to bring her back, Tobias," Blinky said. "But if I did, I assure you we would not abandon Claire."

_But would you?_ A traitorous voice crept into Blinky's head. _You abandoned your brother to the Darklands. Would you risk your husband's life for her? What about Tobias's? You've already lost two of the children you've come to care about._

From the side of the bridge there came a cough.

Only one of them was lost.

"Jimbo!" Tobias cried, abandoning his task in favor of his more reachable, more obviously still living friend. Blinky ran towards his son, AAARRRGGHH! following.

Jim coughed again as his best friend cradled him in his arms. "Is she, is she gone?"

Tobias's smile froze on his face as the light once again disappeared from his eyes.

Jim looked around. "Blinky, what happened to your hand? Where's Claire?"

No one wanted to tell him.

"What _happened,_" Jim demanded, looking around frantically.

Blinky put his upper left hand on his son's shoulder. "After Morgana knocked you out, Claire tackled her into the Shadow Realm. She had Tobias and AAARRRGGHH! destroy the staff. Master Jim, I _tried_ to pull her out, but…" he stared at his own stump before meeting his son's eyes again. "The portal closed before I could."

Jim's facial expression was so similar to the ones he had had when he encountered the deaths of Vendel and Draal.

The vortex lit up green, and Blinky looked away from his son to notice that Merlin survived and held the Staff of Avalon. He would gladly give up his other three hands to get Claire back, but sacrificing the annoyingly surviving wizard would be preferable.

"Glora Azuzth!" the wizard called, ending the Eternal Night. So, he had his magic back now. Somehow, the idea that Claire had done the impossible and _killed_ Morgana felt like too much to hope for.

So much for killing the witch being the only way for the wizard to regain his magic.

"Hey, Merlin? You got your magic back, could you put it to some good and remake the Shadow Staff so we can get Claire back? Because I'm pretty sure it was because of her, her sacrifice that you've got your magic again," Tobias pleaded, still holding onto Jim.

"How… _noble_ of her," Merlin said, a faraway look in his eyes. It quickly disappeared into the usual look of disdain he had for everyone other than himself. "She must have known what she was doing, and I'm not going to risk Morgana coming back."

Right, because his magic was worth risking the world for, but not a young girl who was probably the reason why he had his magic back in the first place.

Merlin set his levitating form on the bridge and began to walk away. "I can sense another Heartstone on the other end of the continent. We should start the preparations to leave and should leave soon."

Blinky stared after him, as he walked through the last place Claire had stood. Then he helped Jim to his feet. "Let's go, we need to take care of your injuries and get out of the sun."

As the walked away, Blinky thought he saw a human dart towards the Bridge. Perhaps they were trying to find out if it was safe, now that the sky was returning to normal. Perhaps they were trying to see what they could scavenge from the wreckage of the battle.

It wasn't an honorable thing to do, but Blinky would let the human scavenge the pieces of the Shadow Staff. Claire's situation was hopeless no matter what.

But in the words of his traitorous brother, even the word hopeless wasn't void of hope. All Blinky could do for Claire was hope that her necked snapped from the chain wrapped around it. All he could do was hope that she died quickly and would endure no torture as the sole subject of Morgana's ire.


	2. Anger

**Don't own the _Tales of Arcadia_ universe; not old enough to be on a city council or to have lost a child.**

* * *

Arcadia Oaks had been invaded by members of another species. Members of the same species had also fought to save their town, and for that its citizens were thankful. But thankfulness wasn't all it would take to rebuild a town. It would take work, and it would take funding.

Unfortunately, the budget had been decided months ago. _That_ had been a debate that had caused enough stress to Ophelia _without_ the argument she had had with her daughter over something now pointless.

The budget included a rainy-day fund, for any of the usual odd developments that came with not knowing that trolls had been living underneath the town since before California was a state. However, it didn't account for extent of the damage the Gumm-Gumms had done. If it had _just_ been a freak tornado combined with an earthquake, then they could petition for aid from the state. However, orchestrating a cover-up so the federal government wouldn't try to hunt down the surviving trolls meant that no one outside Arcadia Oaks could help.

That was why, as Arcadia Oaks was still waking up to a changed town, the city council was having an emergency meeting. A meeting that had only started in an official sense, since the past hour and a half had been devoted to bickering over things that should have been already decided.

"Most of the trolls are gone now, the ones left could just hide like they had been. It'd be easier with help from the state," Councilman Hammes said. Ophelia was thankful that he was up for reelection; hopefully his replacement would be easier to deal with.

"Their home was destroyed," Ophelia clarified. "And even if every troll had left Arcadia, it's the canals that would need to be rebuilt. Anyone from the state will look too closely and find an underground township made of crystals and crafted for people much bigger than your average human."

"Are we _sure_ that we should cover this up?" Councilwoman Rhodes asked. She didn't wear any jewelry other than her wedding ring and a pair of small gold-plated hoop earrings, but if she wore pearls Ophelia got the feeling Rhodes would be clutching them. It was at times like these that Ophelia wished that the city council wasn't a continuous body, because Rhodes still had two more years. "The trolls attacked us once." She sniffed daintily. "What's to stop them from attacking us again? Or what about some other town?"

"I think I saw some kids running around in armor," Councilwoman Tolbert said with a barely-disguised yawn. A half-finished espresso sat next to her phone. "Maybe some of them are still around?"

As Hammes complained about how they shouldn't rely on cosplaying kids to protect them, Ophelia contemplated on whether or not everyone was starting to raise their voices a bit more. No, they weren't. The fan was louder now, and so was Rhodes tapping her French-tipped nails on the desk. Everything was so much louder.

Ophelia got the feeling that when she got home, she should call Dr. Ferrara to see if he still took her insurance. Then again, she got the feeling that no amount of therapy would be able to fill the hole that Claire had taken with her.

"We're just going to need to make some sacrifices," Tolbert said. Ophelia realized that she had zoned out. She glanced at the clock. It had only been for a minute and a half, and that wasn't enough time for the conversation to get anywhere.

"We've already _made_ sacrifices," Hammes said. "Some of us more than others. I'm pretty sure it's been _trolls_ destroying my yard for the past couple weeks."

Ophelia didn't realize that she had risen to her feet until she was staring down the rest of the council. "Trust me, our sacrifices are _nothing._ My _daughter_ was one of those 'kids running around in armor,' as you _so eloquently_ put it. Except for the fact that she had her armor for only a couple days, and she and her friends have been protecting Arcadia _and_ Trollmarket from killer trolls for half a year.

"And now? Now she's _dead,_ and the reason why the sun rose today is _because_ she sacrificed herself. So maybe, before any of you start complaining about the little things you've sacrificed, remember that humans and trolls have made sacrifices for _both_ of our societies, and that we should _respect _those sacrifices."

She had believed in her daughter too late. She wouldn't stop now.

* * *

Nine hours.

Nine hours with one half hour lunch break. That was how long it took for the budget to be revised. Had she not had her outburst about Claire, it may have taken longer, or worse, the revision may have been scrapped and the world would find out about trolls.

"How is he?" Ophelia asked, after kissing her husband on the cheek.

"Asleep," Javier replied. "Enrique bit me a couple times. He's probably teething. He… he keeps looking around and asking 'where?'"

Enrique wouldn't remember his sister. He would grow up, hearing stories about her, but he would be essentially an only child in all the ways it mattered.

"NotEnrique," Javier said as pulled out the ingredients he needed for the chorizo. "Do you think we should –"

"No." Ophelia had already had a yelling match with the small troll over just whose fault Claire's death was. "We're not adopting him."

"I'm not saying we should, just that having him around might help Enrique cope."

As if on cue, a wail broke out from upstairs. "I'll get him," Ophelia said, leaving her husband to make dinner.

As she paced into the room, she glanced at the photo of Claire holding him as a newborn. Would it be better to just take it down?

She picked up her son and immediately felt hard gums on her hand. She hissed in pain; perhaps having NotEnrique around wouldn't be so bad. Stone skin would be more durable against biting, at least. She went to get a soft washcloth to wipe off the saliva from his face. It had helped back when Claire was teething, all those years ago.

When Enrique was happy again and playing with a stuffed owl – the rabbit had gone missing – Ophelia went to grab another washcloth. She took it downstairs, intent on wetting it and putting it in the fridge. It would be cool and soothing on his gums.

She made sure not to look at the closed door to her daughter's room.

"Fudgeknuckle," her husband said, before burying his face in one of his hands.

"What's wrong?"

"I made too much."

"It's okay, we can just have leftovers."

"I made enough for three people. Three people exactly." Ophelia held her husband as he sobbed.

"I thought she was at school, earlier today," Javier said, turning back to the chorizo. "How's Enrique?"

"Definitely teething." Ophelia placed the towel in the fridge.

"Are you going to have to work on the budget, tomorrow?"

"No, we managed to get it done today."

Javier began to place the chorizo on plates. The doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Ophelia said.

She opened the door. On her porch stood Dr. Lake, clutching a purple bundle of cloth. Had the bundle contained an infant, Ophelia would have slammed the door in her face. She wouldn't _replace_ her child with another one.

"I found this in Jim's room," Barbara said, unfolding the bundle to reveal a familiar bolero. "Claire must have left it there when she and Toby changed into their armor. I thought you might want it."

Ophelia willed her fingers not to tremble as she took the bolero. It was just a jacket; it wasn't a piece of her deceased daughter coming home. It wasn't a symbol of every argument she had with her daughter coming back to haunt her. It was just a jacket that she held tightly to her chest.

She wanted to yell. She wanted to yell, and scream, and blame Dr. Lake for raising her son in such a way that he roped Claire into a life of fighting trolls.

She was very tired. Tired of fighting, tired in general as a woman who raised a child for sixteen years only to lose her to a war older than her.

"Do you want to come inside?"

* * *

**I imagine that in the canon, the Nuñez family would have some difficulty adjusting to Claire's absence. Now it's worse that she's far more than a phone call away.**


	3. Depression

**Do I own the _Tales of Arcadia_ franchise? No, but I can warn you that this story is starting to take a turn for the darker, so please heed the _SPOILER/TRIGGER WARNING:_ no characters commit (or try to commit) suicide in this chapter, but suicide is talked about.**

* * *

Jim sat at the edge of the cave. The sun was rising, and Jim could _almost_ feel the warmth it gave. It was like a phantom touch, so near and yet so very far. It was so close to him, and he had to fight the urge to try and touch it. All he could do is watch as it lit up the blades of grass.

There were footsteps behind him, but Jim didn't want to let his view of the day go. Not yet.

"Master Jim," Blinky said in an odd voice. It sounded like he was trying to plead but still be steadying. And of course, there was mournfulness.

With all that had happened, it was impossible not to mourn.

"Yeah, Blink?" Jim asked, finally tearing himself away from the sun. "Something wrong?"

Jim hoped Blinky would understand that he was excluding the fact that with three members of their group being gone, one forever, everything was wrong. Not to mention, they had left behind Arcadia. They had left it in good hands, but they had left behind loved ones.

Blinky looked so scared, but why? What had happened now?

Who else did they have to lose?

"Please come away from the sun," Blinky said. He gripped his staff with three hands, ever shifting them along its handle. Jim wasn't sure if it was out of worry, or the fact that the grip would feel wrong without the fourth hand. Jim's grip on things often felt wrong without the tenth finger, after all.

"Sure," Jim said, though the act of getting up was a difficult task.

Blinky looked relieved by the fact that Jim was so willing to go further into the darkness. He dropped his staff and hugged Jim.

"Bagdwella said you looked like you were waiting for the sun," Blinky said, and he sounded like he was on the edge of tears. "Master Jim, if there's anything you need or want to talk to me about, please say it."

It took Jim a minute to realize what "waiting for the sun" would mean to a species that was killed by daylight. Who else did they have to lose? Blinky must have feared that Jim himself was the answer to that question.

"I'm, I'm not _that_ bad," Jim said, immediately cursing himself inwardly. Not _that_ bad implied that things were bad but could be worse. And yeah, Jim had mental health issues. He'd had them before he started tenth grade, and after he found the amulet, after he went through the Darklands, those issues had multiplied. But he wasn't suicidal, or at least, he didn't think he was outside of occasionally pulling risky stunts in battle. Besides, Blinky already had enough on his plate without worrying about Jim, what with leading a troll migration and adjusting to his lost hand.

The same troll who had built Draal's prosthetic – and Deya, thinking about Draal hurt – wanted to build a prosthetic hand for Blinky. However, without the magic of the Heartstone she'd have a difficult time forging it. The fact that they were on the move didn't make it any easier.

Blinky sighed and held Jim tighter. "And for that I'm thankful. I don't want to lose you." _Too._

Like they had lost Draal.

Like they had lost _Claire._

Jim was happy, no, that was a lie. He wasn't happy, but he was thankful to have his dad with him. But he wanted his best friend, too.

He wanted his girlfriend, and his protector-turned-friend, too, but they were gone.

What had Jim been _thinking,_ having Toby stay in Arcadia? That if Toby stayed behind, Jim could pretend that Claire was happy at home, playing with her baby brother and enjoying time with her family?

There was no pretending that she hadn't been lost to the Shadow Realm.

Because Toby had stayed behind, AAARRRGGHH! had stayed behind with him. Jim could tell that it was taking a toll on Blinky. He didn't know how to compare it to how Blinky had been when AAARRRGGHH! had died, though, because instead of grieving like a normal person, he ran away into another dimension.

Toby would know, but if Toby was here Jim wouldn't have this problem.

This was all his fault, just like everything else was.

"When I jumped in front of that attack," Jim said, "I didn't think…"

"That anyone else would make a similar sacrifice?"

"Do you think I'm what caused her… that I'm why she…"

"_No."_ Blinky's voice was firm. "Jim, _no one_ blames you for Claire's death. Not only were you unconscious, but I doubt there was much you could have done had you been up on your feet."

"I should have told her I loved her too," Jim said into Blinky's shoulder. "Then maybe Claire…"

Blinky's stump collided into the back of Jim's head, and he put his arm down with a small apology. A different hand raised to card through Jim's too-thick hair. "Claire, she was a determined and clever girl. She fought with everything she had. I don't think you professing your love to her would have changed that, because she _knew _that you love her_._ And to her, what she did must have felt like the only option. Don't blame yourself, Master Jim, and don't blame Claire. If you want to blame anyone, blame me."

"No, you tried your best. I know you did," Jim said. Jim wouldn't have blamed Blinky even if he still had all four hands.

"And I know that you tried your best, too."

"I don't feel like I did."

"Jim…" Blinky took a deep breath. "Would you rather that Claire was here instead of you?"

Jim didn't answer. He didn't know _how_ to answer. He didn't really want to die, but he wasn't sure if he wanted Claire back more than he wanted to live his own life as a half-troll. That was so _selfish,_ though. Jim squeezed his eyes tight to keep the tears away.

Blinky pulled away from Jim. Why wouldn't he? Maybe by now he had figured out that Jim didn't deserve to be his son, didn't deserve to be seen as a hero, didn't deserve to be anything other than a faulty protector.

Blinky grabbed Jim's chin, and tilted it up. "Master Jim, look at me."

Through the blurriness of the unshed tears Jim could make out a serious but caring expression.

"We love you, Jim. Your mother and I love you, Tobias and AAARRRGGHH! love you. And Claire and Draal, they loved you so very much."

Jim hadn't even mentioned Draal; was he that much of an open book?

"They would want you to be happy. To live, and to be happy."

Jim started to cry.


	4. Denial

**This chapter takes place after a time skip; said time skip is a minimum of three months. _3Below_ and _Wizards_ happened already in this chapter; _3Below_ was largely the same as canon; IDK what canon _Wizards_ will be like so I can't say.**

**Just as a brief warning, there is a scene that alludes to an eating disorder or at least diet culture. You can skip this scene by skipping over the paragraph that begins with "Mary shoved her".**

**Also, as a warning, so far this is the only chapter that has made me cry.**

* * *

(x^2 – 2x – 24)/(2x^4 – 5x^3 + 3x^2) ≥ 0

Mary glared at the math equation. She had survived multiple apocalypses – troll, alien, wizardly mashups – and yet she _still_ had to do math. In the past, math got harder, but it didn't get harder _this_ fast. Couldn't Miss Janeth show mercy?

Perhaps the fact that her students had survived the end of the world multiple times made Miss Janeth think that her students could handle more. No, they couldn't, that was a terrible thing to think.

Mary groaned. She had done the equation three times now, and she still didn't have the answer in the back of the book. Miss Janeth _always_ checked to see if all the work had been shown, despite her students living in an age in which they would _always_ have a calculator. Then again, Mary wasn't sure if this sort of math could be easily solved with the calculator she had on her phone.

Right now would be a good time for her to have a boyfriend she could text for help, assuming she hadn't made the mistake of picking a _super_ dumb jock. But no, she had figured out that she wasn't into dudes over the summer, and she wasn't going back in the closet just for homework.

Texting in general, though…

Mary picked up her phone; maybe Darci would be able to help.

Wait. No.

No, Darci was too busy throwing a baton at the football game.

Claire, on the other hand, might have free time. Might, unless she was out with Toby and Jim trying to pulverize a goblin or something. Still, she was more likely to be available right now, at least when compared to Darci.

Mary snapped the homework problem and added the caption, "You know how to solve this?"

The fact that she had to scroll for so long to get to Claire felt odd. How had she let their streak die?

She waited, replying to the snaps and messages from Darci, Shannon, Aja, Shannon's girlfriend whose name Mary couldn't remember at the moment because her username wasn't based on her real name, Krel, and Eli. Why did she even have Eli's SnapChat? When did she befriend him?

Oh, well. At least she was getting cool snaps from Akiridion-V.

She checked to see if Claire had responded – she hadn't – and watched her friends' stories. Maybe one of them had posted a solution?

None of them had. Not even Krel, and he liked math. Also, if Claire was fighting goblins or anything then she was doing so alone. Toby and Jim were at the football game, making fun of how Douxie's hair clashed with the Academy's marching band uniform

Mary glanced at her math homework. She didn't want to post anything about her being unable to do her Pre-Calc homework to her story. Let her followers see her flaws? That was something she didn't want to get out. She didn't want to post it to the Defenders of Arcadia group chat, either – neither the meme chat nor the legit chat. Heck, the only reason she was allowed in the legit chat was because she was able to get messages to _everyone_ in Arcadia Oaks. Everyone else was able to fight, and more importantly they _chose_ to fight. Mary? She didn't want to be in the middle of the fighting and lose an eye like Darci had.

Mary opened her regular camera app and took a picture of the problem. She then opened her texting app, and after ten seconds of fruitlessly scrolling through her messages to find the last one from Claire she pressed the "C" on the right-hand side of her screen. She selected Claire's photo, attached the photo to the message, and captioned it, "Help, please?"

She couldn't remember what app Claire preferred to contact her on, since they hadn't texted or snapped in a long time. All summer, and then some.

Mary shoved her phone in her pocket and walked to her kitchen. There was a box of low-calorie, low-fat, low-sugar, guilt-free cookies; she grabbed two and began to eat them. Slowly, in case she later decided that two was too many.

Mary sighed as she walked back to her room and sat in her desk chair. Claire _still_ hadn't responded. Time to pull out the big guns. Worst came to worst, Claire was fighting or eating dinner or something, and she'd tell Mary that she'd call her back. Or maybe NotEnrique would pick up, but still. He'd let Claire know that she had called. Probably. There was a reason why she wasn't calling the little gremlin and having _him_ go get Claire for her. Anyways, the fact that Mary was _calling_ and not texting or snapping or whatever form of instant-messaging they were doing these days would be something Claire would consider urgent. She unlocked her phone, her finger traveling to the upper right-hand corner.

Her finger was hovering right over the call button when Mary remembered why Claire wasn't responding. Why Claire couldn't respond. Not now, not ever again.

Mary set her phone on her desk, face-down.

Dammit.

_Dammit._

Mary was a terrible friend. A terrible person. How could she? How could she have forgotten? How had she forgotten that her best friend since first grade was _dead,_ had been dead for_ months?_

She stared straight ahead for a moment, face blank as her eyes began to moisten. Her jaw started to tremble. The trembling slowed as Mary pulled her lips from her teeth in something akin to a snarl. The muscles in her jaw tensed into an ugly thing she would never let anyone else see. Then the trembling transferred itself to her shoulders. The tension released from her lips and jaw, and they once again began to tremble, with almost the same frequency as the rest of her body. A wet gasp broke free, and then a cry. Mary curled in on herself as more sobs burst out of her. Some of them were loud, and some were hiccupping as she struggled to breathe. She grabbed her hair and pulled at it, not enough to damage it but enough to _hurt._

All of them were things she would never let anyone else see.

It was good that she had the house to herself. No one was there to see her utterly break down.

Mary went to the bathroom and was once again reminded that she needed to go buy waterproof mascara and eyeliner. She had run out, and now her cheeks were smudged with black streaks. She grabbed a microfiber cloth, wet it, and ran it against her face. It was soothing, compared to the warmness of her skin. After a few moments, her plain face stared back at her. Without the concealer she had been wearing, it was even more red from her crying.

Mary went back to her room; maybe she could ask Krel for help? He knew math, both the Earth math she was studying and Akiridion math.

Or she could try again, or even look to see if someone had posted a guide online. She didn't want to talk to anyone right now; she just wanted to finish this problem and watch a movie that wouldn't remind her too much of the dead girl she had been friends with since kindergarten.

x ≤ -4 U 1 ≤ x ≤ 3/2 U x ≥ 3/2

* * *

**To everyone who thought that this chapter would be a rescue mission: sorry? I always intended for Denial to be the sort of denial where you go about your everyday life, forgetting that your loved one is dead only to remember that they're _gone._**

**I posted the math solution on my tumblr; btw.**


	5. Bargaining

**I'm gonna admit, this chapter is a little different from the others. It's still dark, though, so _trigger/spoiler warning: _it contains canon-typical violence and attempted sacrificing of a baby (whether or not the sacrifice goes through, you'll just have to read and find out.)**

* * *

He was _not_ a cultist, thank you very much. He didn't huddle in dark robes like the cults of old, and he didn't try to trick people out of their money in promise of salvation like the newer cults. He wasn't even like the fallen Janus Order. Unlike the changelings, who had served the Mistress of Shadows out of a blind loyalty to their Lady Creator, he _chose_ to follow her.

He was a sorcerer, always looking for more power. He probably would have done well as a businessman, had he never been blessed with the magic that set him apart from the rabble that was most of humanity. As it was, he wouldn't need his job at the chemical plant for much longer, since its only use was potion ingredients, occasional weaponry, and the rent. Not now, moments before he would be given far more power. He could soon quit his current job to rule the continent.

But for now, he had to hide in the shadows, using magic to keep the baby in his arms silent. Was it even a baby, anymore? It could run now. It didn't matter. It wasn't the age of the child that mattered, it was what the sacrifice would give to the sorcerer.

The Trollhunter burst into the room. He had his silver sword in his hands, waving it around for what? Light? Intimidation? "I know you're in here," he growled. "Where's Enrique?"

The Trollhunter looked around, exposing his side. The sorcerer grinned, and with a flick of his wrist three bolts of red magic sped in succession toward the Trollhunter. The first one hit, and the second and third were caught by the Trollhunter's shield.

"Oh," the sorcerer drawled. "The baby? You'll have to take him from me."

He set Enrique on the floor and formed a cage of red light around him. He couldn't let Enrique run away, and he couldn't let any harm come to the baby. No, any harm done must be done in exchange for the power the sorcerer would soon be granted.

Afterwards, he goaded the Trollhunter with a few shots. It was a fun trick, let the opponent think they had the upper hand as embers of magic fell to the floor. Like everyone else who fell for the trick, the Trollhunter charged into the trap. The embers burst to life, chaining the Trollhunter into a kneeling position. He struggled against them, but when his hands were chained behind his back he stopped.

How pitiful. _This_ was the great hero who had slain some of the most powerful trolls? He was _trembling._

The sorcerer blasted holes in the ceiling of the warehouse in a perfect circle above the Trollhunter. They were just far enough apart that the entire ceiling around the Trollhunter wouldn't crumble. It was good to have a living audience. An ego-booster for performing dark rituals.

"Not so brave now, eh?" The sorcerer walked up to the Trollhunter and reached his hand through the barrier of sunlight. His pianist fingers reached around the circumference of the amulet and pulled it away from the armor. The sorcerer placed the amulet in his pocket and walked away.

"Try not to burn yourself, okay? I want you to watch this," he said. He then grabbed the reinforced laboratory glass he had stored in the warehouse. He pulled out the cork and began to spread its contents in a circle a few feet from Enrique and the Trollhunter.

He had scavenged the ruined pieces of the Skathe-Hrün just for this moment. He had gone to the battlefield, hoping that his queen would acknowledge him, only to watch as a girl in purple armor annexed the Pale Lady to the Shadow Realm. Some boy with a warhammer then broke the Skathe-Hrün into a fine powder that the sorcerer had painstakingly picked up from the bridge. It wasn't an honorable thing to do, to pick up the pieces from a battle like a carrion bird. Whoever claimed that he was honorable, though? Honor was merely an obstacle in the way of more power, and the sorcerer wasn't a fan of obstacles.

As it was, he had had to wait through the obstacle that was the months between the so-called eclipse and the Winter Solstice in order to do this ritual on the longest night of the year. Was the timing important? He wasn't sure, but performance and semantics had always helped him cast his spells.

The sorcerer finished drawing the runes that would connect the former Skathe-Hrün to its owner, the trapped Mistress of Shadows. He tugged the amulet out of his pocket and placed it in the center of the circle. He then pulled Enrique out of the cage and held him in front of the summoning circle.

Time for the only damage the sorcerer intended to do _directly._ And really, it was completely necessary. He was altering an old ritual, and blood magic was rarely vague about just _who_ the blood must come from.

It wasn't an ornate dagger that the sorcerer sliced a thin line through the baby's palm. Blood magic didn't care what type of tool was used to get the blood, so a pocketknife the sorcerer had won in a game of cards was highly useful.

The Trollhunter thrashed against his bonds. It was like he thought he could stop this.

Blood dripped into the circle, and the runes glowed with a dark purple light. Like blood or ink through water, darkness filled the amulet. The Trollhunter cried out in pain, though the sorcerer wasn't paying attention enough to know if he was _that_ connected to the amulet or if he had merely tried to venture into the sun without the protection of his amulet.

"Baba Yaga, Pale Lady, Eldritch Queen," the sorcerer began. She had many names, was it not polite to address her by as many as possible? "I bring you the brother of the one who dared to seal you in the Shadow Realm, to do with as you will. In return, I ask that you impart a fraction of your great power into me."

The sorcerer heard the clinking of five clawed fingers forcing themselves through the portal and resting on the concrete.

Well, if he was freeing the Pale Lady then he would be more greatly rewarded.

Then five more clawed fingers forced themselves through the portal. Did his queen update her armor?

He looked down in time to see those clawed, cracked hands heave the body of a young woman in purple armor through the portal. This was _impossible,_ surely the Pale Lady would have killed her in revenge. The sorcerer stepped back, a precaution as the girl swung herself out of the Shadow Realm.

"Give me back my brother!" the girl said, lunging for him. As she did so, she scuffed the ruins and kicked the amulet out of the center of the portal, _ruining_ his hard work.

Her faintly-glowing black-and-purple eyes were filled with venom. She grabbed her brother and held him to her chest with one arm. For the briefest moment, her cracked face softened as she glanced at the whimpering baby. Then it turned back to a vicious, nearly inhuman expression. With the arm not holding her brother, she swiped with her claws. When she narrowly missed the sorcerer, thin whips formed from the end of the claws. _Those_ stung fiercely as they raked across his face.

He didn't mind the look of red streaks across his hair and skin, but only when it was other people's blood or lighting from his own magic. The welts forming from her whips were not appreciated, and so the sorcerer struck back with a blast of red light that she dodged too easily.

She had to tire soon, no practitioner of dark magic could last long when their sclera had become black and cracks littered their chins and cheeks. She would become exhausted soon, and perhaps she would even die. Either way, the sorcerer wouldn't have to deal with her. Maybe he could even reopen the portal, despite how much she had scattered the pieces of the Skathe-Hrün.

"Claire?" The Trollhunter asked. Claire glanced towards the half-troll as he mumbled an incantation that summoned the amulet and silver armor. Claire jumped, no, _flew_ back into a corner as the Trollhunter rushed towards the sorcerer, blade poised to strike, footing careful. When red chains reached out for her, she threw daggers made of purple light to dissolve them.

The doors to the warehouse were broken down as an attitude of teenagers rushed into the building. They all wielded weapons, from Akiridion serrators to Trollish warhammers, fists full of light to baseball bats.

"Jim, what have I _said_ about going in without us?" the boy with the warhammer and orange armor asked. He flew to flank the sorcerer.

"Don't get caught in the embers!" Jim called.

"Somehow, I doubt that's what was said," the Akiridion prince grumbled prior to shifting his serrator into its gun form. He was a skilled shot, skilled enough that he and the two magic users were able to fire in between the melee combatants.

"Where's Enrique?" the boy with the baseball bat shouted, checking in crates. As if the sorcerer was just going to go suffocating babies for the fun of it.

The sorcerer was not used to fighting, especially not with so many combatants skilled at fighting wizards. He wasn't used to bleeding so much, and he wasn't used to being the one who had to dodge or parry. He didn't _want_ to use his last resort, but he also didn't want them to have an advantage.

He reached into his pockets of holding and pulled out vials of iron oxide, aluminum powder, and thin strips of magnesium.

"I wonder how quickly this warehouse will be destroyed by the thermite I can create with this," the sorcerer announced loudly. Everyone went quiet and still.

A feral scream tore through the warehouse as purple light streaked through it. It was not a single, powerful beam. It split into multiple components, bouncing off walls and crates in order to avoid all of Arcadia's so-called defenders. The multitude of beams converged in a set of tight fuchsia chains upon the sorcerer. They lifted him up, stretching his limbs in multiple directions. A final chain encircled his neck, loose, more like a waiting noose than a chokehold.

The scream trailed off into a whimper, and the chains unpinned themselves from the walls and his neck to bind his limbs to his sides. The sorcerer dropped unceremoniously. From a corner of the warehouse came the metallic clatter of a person in armor dropping to her knees. A baby shrieked in joy and started clapping.

"I didn't expect this to be so easy," the Akiridion prince said. He and the two teenage wizards stayed with the sorcerer, while the rest of their group ran to Claire and Enrique. The wizards began placing their own magical bonds upon the sorcerer.

"It would've been kind of cool to see thermite," the pink haired girl said flippantly, like binding the sorcerer was barely worth her time. It probably was, considering the fuchsia overkill.

"You are such a pyromaniac," the other wizard said.

"I was a blacksmith, once!" she defended.

"Yeah, in, like, your first lifetime!"

"You two are probably too human to see thermite being made," the Akiridion prince interjected. "It'll hurt your eyes."

The sorcerer grimaced. How had his plan gone so wrong?

* * *

**You know, every time people have implied that they think there's gonna be a rescue mission, I kept on thinking, "yes, but not for the person you're thinking of."**


	6. Life

**Welcome to the final chapter! If anyone thought this was going to be a happy chapter, though... well, _trigger/spoiler warning_ for offscreen torture and death, mentions of malnutrition, PTSD, and internalized ableism.**

* * *

The walk to the hospital felt so very long.

The walk to the hospital was two agonizing blocks and one alley they had taken because Claire had taken one look at the mass of people _and –_

She didn't remember what she did, but she remembered Jim and Toby trying to calm her down, telling her that she didn't have to interact with a lot of people yet, that they knew a shortcut.

What had she been thinking? That once she got out of the Shadow Realm, her anxiety would suddenly go down to zero?

The entire way to the hospital, Claire had been on the edge of a panic attack and she didn't know _why._ She was _safe_ now. She had saved Enrique. Her friends were still alive. _Jim_ was alive. She had _escaped. _A mob of people doing last-minute Christmas shopping – because she had been there for _six months_ – wouldn't be able to hurt her in a meaningful way, so why was she so _scared?_

Was it because everything was so loud? She was used to sounds only happening because she made them happen, but she had been always listening to make sure Morgana wasn't coming back to torture her.

Claire was thankful for the diversion from the crowd. Her knees, ankles, and hips were not thankful for the supposed "shortcut." She had tried to keep up an exercise regimen, but it was hard to keep to a schedule when the passage of time was a nebulous concept. The amount of weight she had lost didn't help, either.

Jim didn't let go of her hand. Toby only let go of Claire's hand when he needed to readjust Enrique. It was better for him to hold her brother; there were sharp edges on his armor. He was less of a hazard.

The waiting room for the clinic was empty. There was a clock reading 3:46, and it _ticked, _because time was meaningful on Earth. The receptionist looked up and immediately reached for their pager. "Doctor Lake? Your son and his friends are here."

Barbara must have been close, because not a minute later – Claire kept the clock in her vision – she came barreling down the corridor.

First Barbara's eyes landed on Toby, and she looked relieved to see Enrique, alive and mostly well, aside from the cut on his hand. Then her eyes passed over Claire in favor of Jim; Barbara had a look of frustrated concern upon seeing Jim's burns. It was as if burns from the sunlight was a too-common occurrence. Then, finally, Barbara noticed the figure standing between the two boys.

She looked like she had seen a ghost. Claire didn't fault her for that; just because she was opaque didn't mean the girl who had jumped through the portal hadn't died six months ago.

Barbara recovered quickly. "Toby, take Enrique to the pediatric ward. Jim, I'm sure you know where the burn treatment center is."

Toby ripped his hand from Claire's with an apologetic look. "I'll call your parents, tell them that you and Enrique are here," he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

Jim began to move away from her, too, and in panic _– chains, Blinky, torn, snapped –_ Claire used her other hand to hold onto his. Immediately she felt guilty, but she did not let go.

"Hey, Mom? Is it okay if I stay with Claire for a bit?" he asked, giving her a comforting smile. Or at least, it was supposed to be one. Claire took no comfort in the situation, no matter what changed.

"Five minutes, maximum, and then you're getting those burns looked at."

They walked to an empty patient examination room. Claire couldn't remember if this was the same one where Barbara had proclaimed that Claire's illness from the portal was due to stress. She hoped that Barbara had gotten better with identifying the symptoms of dark magic.

There was a scale and a blood pressure cuff in the room. Claire felt her eyes widen; she didn't want anyone to see her. She didn't want anyone to see how much she had been warped.

"Can you take off your armor?" Barbara asked. Claire's joints ached even when her armor braced them; if she wanted them to heal, she would have to let a doctor see them. Barbara had accepted when her son had become a troll, so she was the best bet for not casting Claire away in horror.

Claire braced herself against the wall with one hand. With the other, she closed her fingers around the crystal in the center of her breastplate and pulled it out. Her armor glowed and was pulled in like a star into a glowing black hole. Her porcelain-white hair floated around her head for the briefest of moments as she placed the crystal in her pocket, carefully wedged so that she could don her armor again in a half-moment's notice.

Someone inhaled sharply. Shock, probably, from seeing the way cracks crawled their way up and down her arms, with a concentrated group around her wrists and elbows. From seeing the irregular choker of cracks around her neck, a scar from when her neck had snapped when she had first become trapped; a brand that said no matter how many times Claire died, Morgana would resurrect her again just to make sure the agony never ended.

She was thankful that she woke up cold, and wore sweats, socks, and a t-shirt instead of the tank top and shorts she had gone to bed in. She wished she could be wearing a long-sleeved turtleneck, and a hood, and gloves, and maybe a glamour mask while she was at it.

Taking off her armor was a mistake. Not only was she shaking, but they knew, now. They knew that she was not the Claire they knew anymore; she was broken, and her body was just a bunch of brutally glued together pieces. She was very tempted to take out her hairclips and hide behind her hair like she did as a child.

"Hey, Claire?" Jim asked. "Why are you wearing my clothes?"

"What?"

"I mean, you wore your Papa Skull shirt when… on that day, when you and Toby were putting on your armor." His face fell, but then he grinned. "Why are you now wearing _gym_ clothes?"

She couldn't help the laughter that caused her to nearly double over. "You, you aren't even funny," she said when she was able to catch her breath. How long had it been since she had laughed like that? How long had it been since she had last smiled?

Barbara pushed her glasses up slightly to pinch her brow, despite her shoulders shaking slightly from laughter. She and Jim then helped Claire to the scale.

Concern flashed across Jim and Barbara's faces as they saw just how little Claire weighed. Claire didn't think her weight was that bad; it was harder to see her ribs than when she had first escaped Morgana.

She had to be helped to the bed, too, because her arms and legs ached, and she didn't want to risk triggering a panic attack by levitating herself. Claire pressed her lips together and tried not to think about the way the blood pressure cuff squeezed her arm.

"Hey, I don't know if I told you this, but that was pretty cool, what you did with the chains," Jim said. He was trying to distract her. She appreciated it, because logically she suspected that _no one_ wanted to attack her in this hospital despite her anxiety telling her to be vigilant.

"Thanks," she said, the energy from her laughter gone. She glanced at the blood pressure monitor and realized that she had no idea what 130/78 meant, though she was pretty sure usually the top number was lower.

"Claire, I'm going to ask you some questions. Jim, go get your burns treated," Barbara said as she removed the blood pressure cuff.

"Yes, Mom," he said, reluctantly. "See you in, like, twenty minutes, Claire."

Claire waved and winced at the strain.

"The places where the cracks are," Barbara said. "Do they hurt?"

"Sometimes," Claire said. Her eyes darted about, looking for a clock. Twenty minutes. One thousand, two hundred seconds. Without a clock, it meant nothing to her. She didn't hear a ticking noise.

"Have you… were any of your bones broken?" Barbara asked, and her voice was awkwardly stiff, like she was trying to stick to a procedure. A list of questions to ask a former POW, or something.

Claire nodded. "They… they got healed, though."

"Okay," Barbara said, writing it down. "Can you say how long ago that was?"

"No." Claire found the clock. It read 2:10. A large post-it note was on top of it, and it read "REMINDER: FIX!"

"Do you think they're the reason why you have difficulty walking?"

"Uh… no, it was… _it was…_ I'm sorry." _Chained, pulled, snapped, slammed – _

Claire gnawed at her lip. She was supposed to be okay here. "I can't remember which, which method of torture made my joints bad."

"It's okay, it shouldn't affect the treatment," Barbara soothed; she pulled her stethoscope from where it hung around her neck. "I'm going to check your heartbeat and breathing." She pulled Claire's shirt up from her back. Barbara's gasp would be inaudible for anyone who wasn't hypersensitive to every sound.

The feeling of the cool metal circle against the crisscrossed scars and cracks was an odd one, but Claire tried to keep her breathing steady.

"Well, the good news is that your heartbeat and breathing are normal," Barbara said. She smiled, and Claire tried to mirror it. Her own felt like an ugly, broken mess.

"When was the last time you ate?" Barbara asked.

Claire shrugged. "I… I don't know, I guess in the last day?" As if on cue, her stomach growled. "Yeah, last day, since my body is still acting human." She had come to notice that if she didn't eat for a long enough period of time, her magic would switch on to keep her alive. She always felt more tired than usual when that happened, though. Maybe more depressed and anxious, too.

"When was your last period?" Barbara asked.

"Um, like, a week or two before the Eternal Night?" Claire said. "I… I think between the, the torture and the forgetting to eat it just… _stopped_."

Barbara pulled out a small flashlight, and then put it back into her lab coat. Since she then began to gently feel around Claire's head, Barbara must have realized that Claire didn't have pupils anymore.

"I'm going to start an IV," Barbara said. "Will you be okay for that?"

_Piercing, claws, heart, ripped –_

"I should be," Claire said, blinking away the flashes of memory. "Will you be able to find a vein?"

"Your veins shouldn't be harder to find than Jim's," Barbara said, feeling around Claire's elbow. "Make a fist?"

Claire looked away but complied.

"Your parents are going to be so happy to see that you're alive."

Would they be, when they saw?

_Pain, piercing, claws, gold –_

"Are you cold? I can go get a blanket," Barbara said. Claire realized she was trembling, and that there was an IV drip connected to her arm.

"I, I'll be fine."

"Do you have a lot of flashbacks from what happened to you, in the Shadow Realm?"

"Y-yeah."

"You're safe here," Barbara said, looking Claire in the eyes. "And even if anyone _were_ to come after you, I keep an enchanted knife on me these days."

And Claire had her armor, and her magic, and _maybe_ she could fight well enough. She was exhausted, though.

"I'm going to get you something to eat," Barbara said. Claire realized she must have frowned or did something wrong because Barbara rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, it's hospital food, not my cooking. The bread shouldn't upset your stomach."

Claire was pretty sure she had eaten a jalapeño or two while in the Shadow Realm, but bread was fine. Barbara left the room. Claire was alone, again.

There was noise, though. A lot of noise. Had Earth always been so _loud?_

Enough time passed for Claire to count forty of the white parts of the triangles in the ground, _with_ the couple times she had restarted twice because she had lost focus because a noise outside had startled her.

Claire heard three sets of footsteps as well as Barbara's voice.

"She shows some signs of malnourishment, and I'm going to want to run x-rays on her later, to see how well her broken bones healed, and also maybe find a cause to her bad joints," Barbara said in a hushed tone. The footsteps stopped outside the door. "And, please don't take this as a formal diagnosis because I'm not a psychiatrist or psychologist, but I think she might have PTSD. She's really spooked, and she says she often has flashbacks to her trauma."

The door opened.

Barbara held a small tray of food, but despite her hunger she wasn't the person Claire focused on.

Claire's parents looked ecstatic, and then bewildered. And why wouldn't they be? They were expecting their daughter, not a girl covered in black cracks with white hair and black-and-purple eyes.

Claire couldn't bring herself to put on her armor, even though surely _that_ would make her parents realize who she was.

"Claire?" her mom asked in a shaking voice. Her mom's voice _never_ shook. Her dad looked like he was about to cry but was holding himself together for the sake of her mom and Enrique. Enrique, whose hand had been bandaged from where the sorcerer had cut him.

Claire couldn't bring herself to speak. Couldn't speak, not really, not with the panic settling in. The muscles in her jaw and neck kept twitching as the left side of her mouth kept trying to move downwards. It wasn't a frown her face was trying to form, it was a raw expression of pain she knew too well.

She missed them so much, but surely they would leave, now that they knew the truth about her.

Claire gave a slow nod, and that was enough permission for her family to suddenly be _close_ and hugging her.

_Suffocated, restrained – _no. Claire forced herself to breathe deeply.

She had survived the Shadow Realm.

She was safe. She was home.

She hugged her parents back and began to weep.

She might even get to _live_.

* * *

**Huge thank you to everyone who left reviews, _especially_ Forever-Furuba. **


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